Take A Bow
by surestsmile
Summary: Who is Yamazaki? Just a little compulsive liar? Or something more? (Re-uploaded under a different name)


Take A Bow

"Oi, Yamazaki! Are you ready for the dress rehearsal? It's going to start!"   
  
The paintbrush dropped onto the table with a soft clatter, flecks of black paint dotting the already dirtied top. Yamazaki looked up at his reflection in the mirror, almost recoiling away in shock at the black, unhappy clown face that was staring at him. Almost instantly, though, he relaxed. The face was his, after all.   
  
Another shout came from the school theatre front, demanding angrily, impatiently, for the narrator's appearance. He glanced to the curtain, then picked up the other mask and quickly stepped into the darkness.   
  
He blinked rapidly at the spotlight that shone on him, silently cursing Syaoran who was running the lighting systems, then he swiftly shielded his made up face with the smiling mask. Through the slits he could see the audience, which only consisted of the teacher-in-charge and the ever-so-jubilant scriptwriter (*). Taking a practiced breath, he began to speak.   
  
"Good evening, my friends! Welcome to the Tavern House, a place where you can eat, drink…"   
  
The words flowed from his glib tongue like water, any hint of nervousness vanishing like darkness before light, and he threw himself into the part of Chimera, the two-faced clown cum narrator of the customized story: Between Reality and Fantasy. He would gleefully mock the audience with the happy mask, acting as Chimera the glad and the ignorant, while nearing the real first act of the play he switched to Chimera the sorrow-filled and the wise with his own painted face, taunting the audience with heavy sarcasm and a thought-provoking mini-speech.  
  
"… We are unable to pierce the masks the others wear. But for now… drown your sorrows at the Tavern House! Enjoy, and make merry!"   
  
With one magnificent back flip he mingled easily into the now-busy backdrop of the Tavern House, entertaining the "customers" there.   
  
He moved so fluidly from one character to another, changing personalities at the snap of fingers with confidence and professionalism. Almost as if he had practiced the art of acting for more than the couple of months since he joined the high-school drama team.   
  
Yamazaki knew how to act, all right. He had been acting as the clueless and adorable storyteller for so long outside his home, that, sometimes, Yamazaki didn't really know which is the real him.  
  
The Yamazaki who spun tall tales of made up fantasies, or the Yamazaki who continuously lived fearing the frequent times when his father came home drunk.  
  
Nobody really knew the real Chimera in the play.  
  
There was a meagre but enthusiastic applause at the end of the one and a half hours of the rehearsal. Yamazaki tiredly wiped away the perspiration generated by the rather energetic activities that stemmed from being Chimera.  
  
A hand clasped his shoulder as the cast slowly dispersed from the debriefing session. He turned around to face the leading lady, a slim, shy girl who played the part of a foreign princess turned peasant child of her own choice. "Yamazaki-kun, you're really wonderful acting as Chimera. It's such a difficult part, yet you pulled it off so well!"  
  
His trademark smile broke through the black face-paint. "I practice being Chimera at every opportunity, Aiko-san. It's very easy."  
  
"But it seems that you're been acting for years!"  
  
"Only a few months, Aiko-san. Only a few months."  
  
****************  
  
It's really easy to act. After all, if you practice hard enough, and long enough, you can fool anybody. Then, nobody knows the real you anymore. It hurts sometimes, but that's the price to pay. And really, in the long run, pain won't matter so much anymore.  
  
****************  
  
Wiping the black paint off was easier said than done. He should have done it earlier, during the play itself when Chimera was supposed to lose his masks. But there wasn't enough time, since one of the other actors flubbed his lines, and then the paint hardened considerably.  
  
It was getting late when he finally got rid of the make-up and changed into something light and more comfortable than Chimera's ornate costume. By then, the school was practically deserted and he had to climb over the school gate to get out. His heart sank when his wristwatch registered the time.  
  
Breaking into a run, he could only hope that his father was in a good mood. And sober.  
  
No such luck.  
  
Even before he reached his home the yells and the sounds of crashing furniture could be heard clearly. Biting his lips, Yamazaki braced himself for the terror that he had always faced since young. The door drew open, and then his father appeared.  
  
He felt the pain in his arm before he saw his father's fist.  
  
The whirlwind of fury in his home was at its fiercest, striking out at everything in drunken anger. His mother was shouting, crying in the corner, helplessly weak and unable to physically stop her husband from raining blows on her only son. Any attempt to pull her husband away resulted in being flung like furniture.  
  
Yamazaki barely fended off the attacks. He defended his face, crouching in a kneeling position, letting the fists ht his hands and back. He did not cry out, only a small whimper escaped his lips from the pain. Then, abruptly, his father left, still cursing away in incoherent Japanese.   
  
"Takashi… Takashi… daijobu desu ka?"  
  
The old pain in his head receded to a dull ache, but the pain in his back was throbbing like an angry heartbeat. Cool, trembling hands cupped his face, his mother's half-angry, half sad voice crooning in concern. "Why are you so late today, Takashi? I could have hidden you away in the house. You know your father hates to see you when he's …"  
  
"I had a dress rehearsal at school today, okaa-san." A pause, as Yamazaki slowly got to his feet and walked into the house, holding his head. "Otou-san lost a business deal or something and got drunk again, didn't he?"   
  
"Hai." She carried his school things in, and then disappeared into the tiny kitchen. The student obediently set the table for two, sat down and waited for the cooled ramen to arrive. Mother and son started on their meal quietly, acting as if the man had never come into their lives. As if the drunken shame had never existed.  
  
It was better this way.  
  
At night, maybe, his mother would take out the medicinal oil, then he would spend a semi-painful half-hour while okaa-san treated the bruises. Maybe a few, soft comforting words would be exchanged, and then they would go to sleep.  
  
The next day, Yamazaki would go to school as usual, ignoring the sleeping form on the couch. When he returned home, his father would apologise profusely for whatever harm he had caused. The family would make up. A few months later, maybe, if they were lucky, the same thing would happen all over again.   
  
It was just like a beautiful, well-rehearsed play.   
  
****************  
  
Sometimes, the masks you wear feel big and awkward, like it doesn't really fit your true self. You hate it. Yet, you prefer to look though its silted eyes, and let the world view you through those masks. Sometimes, though, you let a glimpse of yourself shine though. But the world draws away, or intrudes into your life, and then you are so frightened that you hurry to hide behind that ungainly mask again.  
  
****************  
  
His arm was barely able to move without screaming in pain. Worse, they had physical education that day. Basketball. Again. His back isn't going to hold up that well either. It was stiff, dulled with soreness.  
  
Still, Yamazaki confidently slipped on his mask and played on, cheerfully scoring a few points himself. The pain was pushed as far back in his mind as it could be pushed, his mind focused on fooling the others. The ball thumped heavily on the asphalt, a rhythmic beating to his heart.  
  
"Yamazaki-kun! Catch!"  
  
He couldn't move fast enough to intercept the moving sphere, it struck his injured upper arm and then both he and the ball crashed to the ground. The brief flash of pain was enough to make him cry out involuntarily.  
  
"Sumimasen, Yamazaki-kun! Daijobu, desu ka…?"  
  
"Dai…Daijobu…"  
  
Yamazaki suppressed a wince as he slowly got up, clutching his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chiharu's concerned face. Forcing a smile out to reassure his childhood friend, he walked as steadily as he could to the benches.  
  
"Are you sure you're alright, Yamazaki-san?" A soft voice followed the hand that suddenly reached out to steady him. He looked up.  
  
"Hiiragizawa-san…"  
  
"That was some nasty fall that you took, Yamazaki," Syaoran commented as he passed the squinty-eyed boy, moving to take his place at the game. "Better get that arm checked out, it may be something worse than a mere bruise, Yamazaki. It sounds pretty bad, with the way you cried out."  
  
"Daijobu, Li-kun," he retorted firmly. Then, to the concerned British boy who was still beside him, "You can go back to the game. I'm alright." In an attempt to distract himself from the black and white reality that was flashing in his mind, Yamazaki watched interestedly as the two foreign students exchanged high-fives.  
  
In an instant, he became the part of the all-knowing observer, having watched a beautiful scene unfold between the two boys who were, by now, surely, more than just good friends.   
  
Chiharu, along with Sakura, Tomoyo and the ever-present video camera tried to examine the seriousness of the encounter with the basketball after the game. Yamazaki simply deterred them away with a tall story about basketballs and collisions with the ground. And then after the customary strangling from Chiharu, he would usually be left alone. Which was what he had wanted.  
  
"The only thing that the basketball really injured was his brain," he heard Chiharu saying as they left. He just smiled widely at her when they looked back for the moment.  
  
"It's a good idea to see the nurse about that arm, Yamazaki-kun. The way you're holding it makes me feel that I should look at it," Terada-sensei glanced at Yamazaki.  
  
"I'll be alright, sensei. It's just a fall."  
  
And that was that.  
  
****************  
  
The only problem when you live in a fantasy world is that you want to live in it more and more. It becomes a place that you're the most familiar with and the most comfortable with, and then you'll start to detach yourself from reality.  
  
Except that you just can't let go of it, even if you wanted to.  
  
You want to escape from reality and live in that bubble. Yet, you're trapped in between and you don't know where to go. To stay in reality and live in pain, or go into the bubble and drown in pleasure.  
  
It's the worst kind of situations, to be trapped in limbo.  
  
****************  
  
Yamazaki was Chimera again, entertaining the princess Daya with tireless tricks and jokes. The princess was bored; bored with the perfect life she was leading. Speaking in an imperious voice, she commanded Chimera to help her create a mask, as she knew he was capable of, so that she could go beyond the palace walls without anyone knowing her.  
  
As Chimera, Yamazaki complied with her wish. From the long, clumsy sleeves of the palace jester he drew a lavish, mud-caked mask, explaining to the astonished princess that to escape from her gilded cage, she must put on the face of a starved peasant child. The act involved a lot of bowing and exuberant gestures, by the time it had finished his back was crying for rest.  
  
Thank goodness for the mask.  
  
He went through the other scenes, saying his lines with defined articulation and volume. There was a few, slow minutes when he tried to wipe off the black make-up as fast as he could for the following scenes.  
  
Eriol was there, portraying the entity called Death. Princess Daya was dying as the peasant child in her dreams, at the last moment Death comes by and rips off the peasant child's mask, quietly remarking to the re-discovered princess that it wasn't her time to leave yet, and that Reality (Death's friend) was coming to fetch her back to her rightful place.  
  
Chimera rushed in to stop Death, yet the latter turned on him, accusing Chimera of putting deceptive dreams in mortals' lives and falsifying the time they were due to live or die on Earth. There was a short, uncontested fight in which Death wins, and Chimera stares face-to-face with its scythe, his two individual masks broken and his face, his real face, staring up in a mixture of fear and anger.  
  
"Fantasy cannot lose its masks!" (**)  
  
And Chimera's real identity would be revealed.  
  
That was the way the play had flowed.  
  
The stage would darken, and then the 'mortals' would pour onto the stage, all wearing the masks that Chimera made. All refusing to face up to Reality, dying in their lies, until Death shall rescue them from drowning in their tears. Breaking apart their masks. Forcing them to act out their true selves in the real world.  
  
For Death alone separates Fantasy from Reality.  
  
****************  
  
When you cross the border from Reality to Fantasy, you lose sight of your true self and lock it up, shall we say, in your mind. You refuse to believe in the truth of Reality, seeking solace in Fantasy instead. Your true self 'dies', lying dormant, asleep, until Death destroys the being Fantasy in your heart.  
  
You drown completely in your fantasy, unable to climb out until Death arrives to awaken your heart and soul.  
  
****************  
  
Yamazaki was undressing quietly in the boys' room, after making sure that no one was around to see the black and blue marks on his back, shoulders and arm. He could barely get the outfit off, until someone lifted the thing off his head for him.  
  
"You're not okay, Yamazaki."  
  
It sounded like the sentence of doom. He stiffened visibly, heartbeat quickening in fear. Cool fingers brushed the coloured areas, pressing lightly on them to test their age. Closing his eyes, Yamazaki tried to relax.   
  
_It's not happening_, he softly told himself, just like he murmured under his breath when those blows fell on him. _Nobody knows about this and they don't need to know._  
  
"Who did this, Yamazaki? Tell us!" A different voice, hoarser, barely disguising the strained fury in it. He knew them. He knew the voices. His mask was going to be taken away and shattered into little pieces.  
  
Chimera cannot live without his masks.  
  
Eriol gripped Yamazaki's shoulders firmly but gently.   
  
"Tell us, Yamazaki-kun," he said, whispered. "We can help. Someone is hurting you, badly; something is wrong. Please tell us."  
  
_Don't break my heart. Don't talk to me._  
  
"Please don't ask," he replied in a pleading voice. "Please don't ask me anything… everything is fine…"  
  
Syaoran exploded. "Yamazaki, this is serious! How long has this been going on already?" Then, his voice softened. "You can tell us, Yamazaki. We can help. We want to help. What's the use of friends if they can't help?"  
  
He pushed them away; eyes now wide open but dry of tears. "Everything is fine," he fiercely whispered. "Nothing is wrong. Others don't know to know about this; you don't need to know about this. Just…leave me alone…"  
  
Calmly, as though nothing had happened, he slipped on his school tee. Turning around to face the two of them properly, he firmly repeated himself.   
  
"No one has to know about this."  
  
He ran off.  
  
"Yamazaki, don't be a fool! We CAN help…" Syaoran tried to follow him, yet Eriol's hand restrained the Chinese boy from going after the Japanese one.  
  
"Leave him be. Yamazaki-kun will come around. He will give us a chance to help him, somehow. But for now," Eriol reflected sadly. "We have to wait."  
  
"I know how it must have hurt," Syaoran shuddered, drawing his arms around himself. " I know…"  
  
It had started raining heavily. Puddles of water sloshed noisily as his shoes took him to a place somewhere. He did not know where, but at least it was dry, quiet, lonely, and away from anyone he knew. He hid under the penguin king in the park.  
  
"Everything is fine, Yamazaki Takashi," he reassured himself. Rain fell on his face, the drops of liquid looking very much like tears. He wiped them away, scrubbing them off. That reminded him of the scene where Chimera was describing the world as a huge stage to the market crowd, which amongst the people stood the king.  
  
"The world spins around your fingertips, my friends. You wield the power to control its endings and beginnings, use it!"  
  
His world. He was gradually losing sight of his role, like the king whose gold-covered eyes who refused to see anything beyond wealth, land and power. Except that his mask was cracking, like an egg under pressure.  
  
Chimera will die if he has no mask to wear.  
  
"You cannot see Fantasy for who it really is! To unmask Chimera would be the end of hopes and dreams and wishes!"  
  
"Fantasy leads the mortals astray," Death's emotionless voice intoned. "They cannot face Reality as they should because Fantasy offers them an easier way out. To a different, false life. It is not supposed to happen that way. The mortals are to play their respective parts, not another's!"  
  
Yamazaki was going insane.  
  
****************  
  
They say it's easier to kill a stranger. They say it's easier to tell lies to people when they can't see your eyes. You will find that it is true.  
  
They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. They say that it is easier to tell what a person is feeling if you look in their eyes. That is true too.  
  
Maybe that's why I keep my eyes closed.  
  
So that no one can see through my smile and look at my pain.  
  
****************  
  
Nothing remotely exciting happened in the next few days. Eriol and Syaoran seemed to back off from him, although he could still sense the latter's anger. His father also seemed to be staying sober, at least. His injuries faded, and then his precious play was going so well. He loved acting. He loved being someone he wasn't.  
  
'Between Reality and Fantasy' was going to run for three nights. It was one of his toughest plays, and he was determined to act it well. He would make his parents proud.  
  
The grand opening received a thunderous applause, and an excited response. Any remaining tickets for the other two nights were readily snapped up, and his precious tickets were clutched tightly in his hands as he raced home after the second night. It was raining heavily that night too, but he was too keyed up to care.  
  
He thought he could pretend he was a normal child without a broken family rushing home elatedly to present the tickets to his parents. The drunken slap shattered the crystal dreams he had for the night.  
  
"Why are you so late tonight, Takashi?!"  
  
The words were spat out in an intoxicated slur. Yamazaki dropped to the ground, trying to protect his chest and face, as always. He kept his eyes tightly shut, his mind carefully focused on the tickets in his hand.  
  
"Answer me, Takashi!"  
  
He pretended he didn't hear. He locked himself up in his dream's paradise, in his own version of Chimera's world. Somewhere, he heard a soft voice meekly pleading for mercy. It took him a few moments to believe that it was his own.  
  
Yamazaki suddenly felt very tired. There was an abrupt, vicious kick to his ribs, and then he slipped into blessed darkness, his tickets still tightly held in his hand.  
  
The unending brightness of some light brought him back to consciousness. Gingerly, his eyes opened, looking at his mother's face, etched in many worry lines, more worry than before. He smiled.  
  
"Kaa-chan, the tickets to the play…"  
  
"I think you should skip today's performance, Takashi."  
  
It was already morning. Maybe that explained the bright lights.  
  
He winced as his mother's fingers dropped to the makeshift bandage on his chest. Her voice was strong, convincing. "I haven't the money to let you see a doctor. Your father took the rest to drink and gamble it away." It was quietly spoken, a mere fact of life.  
  
Still acting. He was tired of acting happy and okay. But he still didn't want to let go of his fantasy.  
  
Softly, though, he began to speak, against his will. "We need people to help us, Kaa-chan. We can't keep this act up forever…" A wry smile appeared. "This false life so that our neighbours won't look down on us. Besides," his eyes suddenly lit up. "Tonight's the grand finale. I need to be there." Yamazaki tried to get off the bed, grimacing as he did so.  
  
He felt oddly energized, and his mother frowned. She was a proud lady, not used to asking people for help. She married his father because he was a rich businessman, until he got addicted to gambling.  
  
"Come to the play, okaa-san. It'll be alright."  
  
His mother chewed her lip worriedly, looking at her son. Finally, she relented.  
  
"I promise, Takashi."  
  
****************  
  
Keeping your chin up is the last resort. The moment you sink beneath the waves, you drown. Shout for help, if you must. Someone will hear you.  
  
****************  
  
His ribs, back and head ached as he limbered up for the act. Behind the theatre backdrop he could hear the audience coming in. _After tonight_, he promised himself. _After tonight, I can stop pretending to be someone else._  
  
An idle dream, like the many ones he had before?  
  
The black paint felt cool against his skin as he applied it. There was the sound of other actors rushing at last minute changes and alterations. He felt strangely light-headed in spite of it all. Someone stood beside him, catching his attention. It was Eriol.  
  
"Are you okay?"  
  
Yamazaki's unpainted part of his face was flushed pink, although a purplish-black mark had formed on that cheek. Eriol frowned as he looked at Yamazaki's eyes. They reminded him of something.  
  
"It's going to be great. Tonight's performance. Maybe, after this…" he turned to Eriol. "Do you think I can ask Terada-sensei for help?"  
  
"On what?"  
  
"This," the squinty-eyed boy gestured to his cheek.  
  
"You should. That's a good thing to do."  
  
The mage took the brush from the boy. "Let me do this. You need to calm down, Yamazaki. You're breathing too fast." Eriol painted his face swiftly, noting the strange warmth radiating from the skin whenever his fingers accidentally brushed it.  
  
A hushed silence fell on the stage and auditorium, and the lights darkened. Chimera pulled away from Death, took his other mask and moved beyond the curtain. Yamazaki suddenly stumbled, it was then Eriol noticed the way his friend walked.  
  
"Yamazaki…"  
  
"It's a little too late to back out now, Hiiragizawa-san."  
  
"Then, ganbatte, Yamazaki-kun." A whisper, like a prayer. _Good luck._  
  
The spotlight went on.  
  
"Good evening, my friends! Welcome…"  
  
****************  
  
I don't know who I'm pretending to be anymore. I can't see the line dividing Reality and Fantasy, because it has become muddled up.  
  
I'm tired of acting.  
  
Wake me up.  
  
Please.  
  
Even if it means the death of me.  
  
****************  
  
Eriol swung the scythe around, sending the two masks skittering away across the stage.  
  
He saw the exposed features of Yamazaki, moulded in the shocked expression. The latter was really wonderful, it outshone the previous acts. Then he looked into the fever-bright eyes of Yamazaki, and mentally smacked himself.  
  
But there was nothing he could do on stage.  
  
Chimera was sick.  
  
****************  
  
The mask is broken.  
  
My mask… is broken.  
  
****************  
  
Only Chimera was left on the stage, a broken "spirit". There was a half-sobbing laugh, and through a translucent mask the audience could see Yamazaki's face.  
  
"They gave me this… to play on the stage. Chimera cannot live without a mask, so they gave me this transparent one so that people can choose whether they wanted to believe me.  
  
"But mortals always wanted a different role to play from what they're supposed to do. They're always looking for their dreamer's paradise, and they come to me for it. Even though they knew the price. But because they could also see me face through this wretched mask, I can't meddle in their lives anymore. Only their minds…"  
  
He slowly got up to his feet.  
  
"I thought I had controlled the stage from the beginning. But I'm just another actor in a play, controlled by certain rules. And I too, am acting a part different from which I was supposed to be.  
  
"At least it teaches me one thing. That nothing can escape the web of God. Not even Fantasy."  
  
His head was throbbing badly. The pain in his ribs threatened to overwhelm him in its fire. He was tired of being 'okay'.  
  
"And then, maybe, when it all ends, when the play ends, all the actors will come out and…"  
  
A burning bowl of pain ready to fall.  
  
"…Take a well-deserved bow."  
  
He could have imagined hearing something crack sickeningly as he assumed his deep bow. The fever consumed his mind, and the pain his body. He fell to the ground, even as the applause roared around him.  
  
They thought it was just an excellent play, with an excellent leading actor and supporting cast.  
  
****************  
  
You don't have to pretend anymore.  
  
You don't have to be alone in your pain anymore.  
  
****************  
  
Someone turned him around on his back, five or ten minutes later when he still didn't get up. A cool hand touched his burning forehead.  
  
"He's having a fever!"  
  
Terada-sensei's voice. Then Eriol's voice telling sensei about the bruises. More and more voices, his mother's his friends', Chiharu's, melding in a cacophony of sounds in which he need not take part in.  
  
He was glad to not talk for once.  
  
****************  
  
Take a bow, Takashi.  
  
Take a bow.  
  
****************  
  
He already had.  
  
~ Owari. ~  
  
  
  
  
Author's Notes (or whatever fancy names you call it.):   
  
(*) I was hoping that I could write a play like that, and if I did, that would be me.  
(**) When I mean 'Fantasy cannot lose its masks', I feel that if we could see Fantasy as it really is, there would be nothing to dream, to hope for.  
  


And yes, you have finally reached the end of this long (for my writing standards) and angst-ridden fic. I know that it's a little rough at the edges and sounds very much out of my control when it reaches the ending, but I hope that my effort can be seen. Yamazaki is a hard character to write for when you try to reach his unwritten (presumably angst-y) side, but I had fun putting our little compulsive liar through what I feel would be a reason for his compulsiveness in telling tall, really tall stories. 

  
Ja mata ne, patient readers!


End file.
